


Untraditional.

by a_skalds_tale



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Anglo-Saxon, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Love, Smut, The Last Kingdom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24077665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_skalds_tale/pseuds/a_skalds_tale
Summary: Raised as a slave, but now freed, Sihtric Kjartanson has been granted the freedom, the permission to marry his great love, Asta.
Relationships: Sihtric (The Last Kingdom)/Original Character(s), Sihtric / Asta
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

It is common, in Danish marital practices, for warriors to be awarded women significantly younger than themselves. The main purpose of this is for the promise of heirs, of sons, for a fortress, for land, for the name to carry on, in hopes the son will survive childhood to protect it. In the ceremony, the bride is awarded an ancestral sword from the groom’s family, a promise of protection. The thought behind most weddings disregards feelings of affection, or love entirely. It is entirely for an alliance, and heirs to protect the alliance between tribes, between Danish kingdoms. There is a bride price—a promise of protection, of provision for the bride and her new husband.

Nothing anyone said or did to Sihtric that day could take the smile from his face. Today he would marry. Sihtric was never told what time of year he was born, but by this time, he figured he had to be at least nineteen—certainly old enough to marry, old enough to love, and to know what love is. Entering Lord Uhtred’s service only a year ago, he had found his way back to a love he thought he lost.

Asta, once a slave girl held in Dunholm by Sven and Kjartan, freed by Uhtred when Ragnar the Younger took the fort in a brutal slaughter. Asta was taken captive from a Saxon camp as a child, only four years old, but raised within the walls of Dunholm by older slave women. She had been a slave for thirteen years. Asta and Sihtric had been fond of each other inside of the fortress, sympathizing with one another about Kjartan’s cruelty to them both. But because of their status as slaves within the walls of Dunholm, a true romance never flourished. But after she fled to Dunholm with other now-freed women, she found herself in Winchester. Each of the women she escaped with became married to Saxon warriors, or whores to support themselves, to give themselves hope of a better, more secure life. It wasn’t until Uhtred had returned to Winchester from Coccham that Sihtric had found Asta once more, and fallen so irrevocably in love with her. And the romance flourished.

He made his way through Winchester, not minding the men who purposefully bumped their shoulders against him, against this _Dane_ in Wessex. When he spotted the house in which Asta lived, his smile broadened, heart hammering in his chest. The priest who she lived with, was sitting at the door, repairing a tunic.

“Father Pyrlig,” Sihtric approached the priest with a subtle confidence. “Is Asta in?”

The priest looked up at him with a small smile. “She is. She has been waiting for you,” the balding priest said, standing to his feet. “Asta! Your warrior is here.”

And when he sees her, his knees go weak. She is beautifully dressed in a new, red dress. No dirt on the hem, no tears at the skirts. It is a beautiful, velvet, only the finest for Sihtric’s bride. Her hair is braided in elegant plaits, as is the custom. Her dark eyes sparkled in the low light of the house. _She looks like a Dane_ , Sihtric thought to himself proudly as his heart melted in his chest. “What do you think, my love?” she asked nervously, turning around slowly, giving him a small show.

“I cannot believe you choose to marry me,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. He did not know where the priest went, but was grateful he had gone away, wanting to get his hands on her quickly. She walked closer to him, her eyes sad. “I am unworthy of your devotion.”

She shook her head. “No, you will not speak this way,” she told him, her hands on his chest, eyes wide in adoration for her man. “You are an accomplished warrior, a brave, strong man, with courage and wisdom beyond your years. Despite what you may believe, I am the one who is unworthy, Sihtric,” she explained, standing on tip toes to be close to eye level with him. As he opened his mouth to protest, she placed a finger to his lips. “Please kiss me.”

He lost track of how long they stood in the doorway, embracing one another, hands grabbing each other’s arses, lips and tongues fighting for dominance. He resisted holding her head in his hands, in fear of mussing her pretty hair. “You’ll have all night to kiss her. You’ll be late for your own wedding.” The Irishman’s voice cut through the silence of their passion. Their eyes snapped open to see Uhtred, Finan and Osferth on their horses, no more than four yards away. Asta’s face burned red, eyeing the men. Sihtric beamed with pride, showing no shame in front of his friends, his brothers.

“Lady,” Uhtred nodded at her, flashing her a small smile. “May we escort you to the church?”

“Yes, lord.” she smiled at him, as Sihtric helped her mount her horse, climbing up behind her. Sihtric’s arms wrapped around her frame, holding her against him tight as they rode towards the church.

He rode through the city, head held high. He never thought that in this lifetime, he would have such an opportunity, such a privilege; to marry. Not only to marry, but to marry someone he _loved_ , someone he passionately swore to protect, to cherish, provide for, to _honor with his life._

The ceremony was untraditional at best. With no family to speak of to precede Asta down the aisle, Uhtred took her father’s place in that role. There were no ancestral swords to be exchanged between the two, no keys to a home to be presented to the bride, no sword for the groom. No bride price to be paid. No hope of alliance. Just two souls, destined to be together. Destined to spend their lives loving one another. But for two slaves, who otherwise would’ve never had the chance to even marry, this was enough for them.

Osferth said the blessing over their union. “Lord, bless Sihtric, and Asta as you bind them together in holy marriage today. May their union be fruitful, harmonious and peaceful. May you bless them both with provision and health. In Christ’s name, Amen,” the men echoed the amen, Finan signed the cross, and Uhtred shifted uncomfortably in his boots beside Asta. “I pronounce you man and wife. Sihtric, you may kiss her now.” The men cheered as Sihtric took her face in his hands, kissing her through a smile and teary eyes.

They went to an alehouse to eat and drink ale; to celebrate. “Never thought you’d actually do it, ya bastard.” Finan laughed, clapping Sihtric on the back, nearly spilling a mug of ale from the force. Sihtric smiled, seeing his wife walk back across the alehouse to him with Father Pyrlig.

Father Pyrlig stopped to speak with Sihtric. “Sihtric, I will be at the church this evening, the king has requested an audience with me. You and Asta are free to have the house to yourself this evening,” the men’s voices began to rumble in their chests, ready to tease Sihtric, “But don’t defile the place beyond recognition, please.”

“Thank you, father.” Sihtric smiled, his cheeks flushing pink.

“I was married once. I know how important a wedding night is.” The priest added, patting Sihtric on the shoulder as he walked away.

“Whole house to yourselves for a night, hm? I’m jealous. Best I’ve gotten is a whole stall to myself with a whore.” Finan laughed, the ale hitting his bloodstream, and his brain.

Uhtred rolled his eyes. “Finan, this is quite different.” Osferth reminded him.

“How? He’s gonna hump, I hump!”

“This is his wedding night? And I believe Sihtric isn’t as quick to spend his money on whores in horse stalls as you are.” Osferth jabbed, sipping his ale as Finan sunk back into his seat.

“Sihtric,” Asta’s voice calmly whispered in his ear, fingers gently resting on his bicep. “Sihtric, when can we leave?”

“Whenever you’d like.” he spoke softly back to her, eyes soft, soft only for her.

“Now, please. _I need you_ , husband.” she whispered, making him shift in his seat and nearly jump to his feet.

“Thank you for the ale, lord. But my wife and I are going to retire for the evening.”

“So soon?” Uhtred jeered, a smirk on his face.

“Lord if I remember correctly, when you and Gisela married, we did not have a celebration at all. Rather, you two retired directly after the ceremony?” Sihtric shot back, warranting a great deal of laughter from the men.

“We leave for Coccham tomorrow, Sihtric.” Uhtred reminded him, eyebrows raised as a smirk crossed his face.

“Yes, lord. We will be ready to ride by dawn.” Sihtric promised.

They rode back to the priest’s home in silence. Asta sat behind her husband, resting her head on his back, arms around his waist. She marveled at his body, at his strength. His quiet, yet obvious strength he held inside himself, as well as on his body. Asta lit candles inside the house as Sihtric stabled her horse, feeding the horse for the night, ensuring she would be well to ride the next morning. Asta started a fire in the hearth, the hearth next to the bed which they would share this evening. The sun was setting, casting an amber glow in the house through the few windows it had. Sihtric returned from the stable, stopping just inside the door as he eyed his wife, putting another log on the fire. Tears filled his eyes.

“Sihtric, what is it? What is wrong?” she asked, nearly running to him.

He shook his head, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “I never thought, never thought I’d have any of this,” he explained, his hands falling to her waist. “Never thought I’d be free, free to love, to marry, to make my own path. When I was young, it was all my mother wanted me to have. To be free from my father,” he shuddered at the mention of Kjartan. “To have what she never did, to have a love as great as what we do. To be a warrior, a respected one,” he shook his head, disbelief overwhelming him. “I’m very grateful.”

“Let me show you how _I am_ grateful for _you,_ ” she suggested, the tone in her voice making his ears perk. She led him to the bed, a desire growing in his belly, seeing the way she eyed him over her shoulder. The dress she had selected for today had ties at the back. “Untie me, please.” she asked, turning around, pulling her hair out of the way.

“Anything, my love.” he assured her, his fingers gently working at the bows in the back of her dress. After the ties loosened, she slid the dress from her shoulders, down her torso and legs, revealing what Sihtric could only believe was a dream. His throat dried up, cock hardening in his trousers.

“Sihtric?” she called nervously to him, thoughts running rampant.

“You are more beautiful than I could’ve imagined.” Her cheeks flushed as he began to unlace his boots and disregard his knives, his sword, his belt, them clanging to the floor in his haste. Sihtric had not been chaste, not since he began to serve lord Uhtred. After battles, _successful_ battles, they celebrated with ale and sex. Sihtric had once thought he had loved a whore, but Uhtred had convinced him otherwise and he had since found Asta in Winchester. But since pledging loyalty to one another, they had not done more than kiss and touch one another—mainly for a lack of time and privacy.

He stood before her, bare, suddenly conscious of all the scars his body bears. Scars on his back, reminders of his childhood, that had never faded, much like the memories. Small scars on his arms and legs, from battle, and a gash alongside the back of his thigh, where he had almost been fatally wounded, if it weren’t for Osferth stepping in and wielding an axe against the offending man when everyone least expected it.

“Sit down, husband.” she softly commanded. Sihtric obeyed, always obedient, always attentively listening for a command from someone, anyone. She straddled his lap, kissing him, nails scratching lightly at his skin, leaving goosebumps along his arms, his legs. His cock throbbed with need, with want, underneath her. Her fingers slowly trailed down his muscular stomach, reaching for his cock, moaning as she felt his length in her hand. She slid off his lap, sinking to her knees on the dirt floor between his legs, eyes widening up at him.

“Wha—you don’t have to—oh,” Sihtric began to protest her lustful action, but cut himself off as she licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, lips pursing to kiss the tip. He cursed under his breath as she continued to lick, kiss and suck at his cock, every nerve ending on fire in his body. It had been many moons since he had enjoyed this pleasure at the hand, the mouth, of a woman and not his own hand. As he felt himself reaching the brink of his pleasure, he squeezed her hand, which was resting on his thigh. “Please, if you do not stop I will not be able to bring you pleasure,” he chuckled, smiling at her. “Come here,” his tone changed as he spoke, and a tone of dominance replaced his usual calm and gentle demeanor. She rose to her feet and sat on the bed next to him as he stood up, stroking his cock in his hand. “On your back,” he commanded. She obeyed, sprawled on her back, observing his every move, his change in tone. “I will ravish you and you will feel nothing but pleasure, I swear,” he promised her as he dropped to his forearms, above her, supporting his own weight. Her hands went to his back, scratching at his skin as he teased the head of his cock along her slick folds, making her squirm beneath him. “You are so beautiful,” he praised. “So lovely,” she blushed under his touch, his praises urging her need for him further. “If I hurt you, tell me, and I will stop.” he told her.

She nodded, pressing a kiss to his lips as he guided his cock inside her. Her eyes rolled closed in bliss, his length and girth more than she had imagined, better than she had imagined. “Sihtric,” she moaned, back arching off the bed as she adjusted to him. He held back breathy moans as he gripped her shoulder. “Sihtric, please move.” she begged, tears welling in her eyes from need. He slowly began to roll his hips against hers, reminding himself of how to make love, after all this time without it. He smiled hearing his wife moan and mewl with desire, with love for him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, surprised he could form a coherent sentence with how drunk on her he is.

“Yes, yes! Yes, Sihtric, please, more!” she cried, her legs wrapping around his waist. He was overwhelmed with pleasure, with joy, as he allowed himself to press into her further, faster, harder; chasing his pleasure, bringing her to pleasure alongside him. He cursed as her walls fluttered around him, her release threateningly close.

“My love, I—please, oh,” he moaned, not sure what he was trying to say. He dropped a hand to her clit, rubbing it gently, bringing her to pleasure, to her release. Her walls squeezed around his cock as he found his release, his pleasure. He moaned, his thrusts hard and decidedly deeper as he spilled his seed within her, hearts racing together, toes curling, breathing heavy. “Thank you, oh thank you.” he praised her, his head dropping to her shoulder as he milked his cock for all his pleasure.

She was warm, pliant and pleasure drunk beneath him. He rolled off her, chest still heaving, blood pulsing through his veins, thanking the gods for his wife. “What?” she giggled, as he stared at the ceiling, trying to get his chest to stop heaving.

“I will never tire of you.”

She laughed. “I’m sure after a few children you will tire of me.”

His eyes were serious, solemn. “Never. You are the sun, the moon and all my stars. I will never tire of you, my beautiful bride. The children you will give me will only make me love you more.”

“Whether they are sons or daughters?” she asked, saying a silent prayer for a daughter.

“Yes. Regardless of what they are or who they choose to be. They will be ours and I will love you more for giving them to me,” he promised, spreading her legs, resting his body between them, his face level with her core. A smirk spread across his face. “But until then, we have all night for pleasure.”


	2. The Sake of Being a Warrior

It had been nearly four moons since Sihtric had left his wife, Asta, to journey with Uhtred Ragnarson across Saxon territory and Daneland alike, doing Alfred’s bidding. When he left Asta, she had begun to experience the first few weeks of sickness, coming from carrying a child. Sihtric’s heart raced at the mere thought of a child growing within her.

“A woman who is with child is either a dream or a nightmare.” Finan told him, on the road to Coccham. They were only about five miles away now.

“Why would she be a dream? Gisela was only ever very sick with all of my children.” Uhtred chimed in, hearing Finan’s assumption.

“Sometimes they like to hump more.” Finan’s eyes sparkled.

Sihtric snorted softly. He had hoped Asta was not harsh with him upon his return. Being apart from him all these moons, during this time he should’ve, could’ve, would’ve been with her.

“I only hope she is excited to see me.” Sihtric said, a small smile crossing his features.

Their horses approached Coccham shortly after the conversation waned, and they rode in silence.

Uhtred’s children saw him approaching, and rushed towards the gates, which were open. Traders come and go through Coccham, something Uhtred encourages, something he wants. Wants to know what is going on. Who is raiding where, and who he needs to be wary of.

It was warm, summertime. The children were barefoot, the boys running around shirtless. Sihtric scanned the crowd that had gathered to welcome the men home for his wife. And he saw her. Standing towards the back of the crowd, arms crossed over her chest, looking _less than_ thrilled to see them return. Only a small smile crossed her face as he dismounted his horse, running to embrace her.

“You grow more beautiful with each day, I swear it!” Sihtric exclaimed, picking her up below the waist, and spinning her around, cautious not to crush her growing belly.

She held his dirt-blood-soot-grime covered face in her hands before kissing him, thankful for his return. Thankful for the stench of blood, of sweat, of victory that he brought to Coccham. That he, Uhtred, Finan and Osferth collectively brought. Tears stung her eyes as she held onto him, clutching his hair in her fingers, pulling it taut against his scalp.

He gently sat her down as the hired boys came to gather the men’s horses and take them to the stable for a washing, feeding and rest.

“We’ll see you next week, Sihtric.” Finan jabbed; a half joke. Sihtric had only spoken of how he would bed Asta for a week straight upon their arrival home.

Sihtric didn’t dignify Finan’s comment with a response, carrying his wife to their home in Coccham. She had a warm pot of water on the stove, a soft rag lying on the table, where she would clean him, dress any open wounds before he got his shot at making love to her.

He stripped away all of the heavy armor, all of his leather and mail, his arm bands he so proudly wore. Ten now. He removed the base layer of his clothing, revealing his scarred but ever beautiful body.

“Chiseled from the god’s finest flesh, I swear.” she praised him, a small smile flashing across her face.

He blushed as he stood bare before her. She led him to a chair, offering him clean, fresh water and fresh bread. He moaned as his teeth sunk into the supple bread. “It’s not _stale_.” he marveled at the bread she had encrusted with apples. His favorite.

“I baked it this morning. I had hopes you would return today. Your child kicked more last night than he ever has, my love. I took it as a sign you were close.” she said, soaking the rag in the water, and a bit of soap.

“ _Our_ child,” Sihtric corrected gently. “Will be strong. Like his mother.”

“Like his father.” It was Asta’s time to correct.

She marveled at his hair. Half of his hair was shaved right down the middle of his scalp, and where the shaving ended and the hair began he had it in a tight braid. The exposed side of his scalp was bloodied, _encrusted_ with dark splotches. They both winced as she soaked it, an attempt to loosen the dirt, blood and muck from his scalp.

When she cleans him after battle, she takes her time, thanking the gods for protecting him, for bringing him back to her in one piece. He is a strong man, and is in the first line of battle, the first line of defense for the shield wall.

He tells her the tales of the lands they travelled on, of Uhtred’s brash ways of thinking that often work out. Asta says it’s nothing but pure luck and Sihtric laughs. “He is favored by the gods.”

She snarled, intentionally scrubbing at the skin on his legs a little harder. “What was your reward for all these battles, Sihtric?” she asked, the tears stinging at her eyes.

“He has rewarded us with more silver, and with grain. With this home.” he told her gently, always gentle.

She submerged his feet in a pail of clean water. They were blistered, dirty and scabbed. “How much longer will you put your life on the line for a man you owe nothing to? Go into battle, willing to sacrifice your life for a cause you have no blood in, no skin in, and for what, Sihtric? So your sword may be returned to me with an arm band? If they can salvage it from the scavengers who pick dead warriors bodies clean of anything of worth.”

Sihtric listened to her carry on. Listened to her empty threats of killing him herself if he were to go off on another one of Uhtred’s careless Saxon escapades. Of how she despised the man who would willingly take her husband and lover away from her. This was not like her, Sihtric knew that. He knew being with child affected the way women behaved sometimes, so he was patient with her anger. He _knew_ she was proud of him, proud of him for being a warrior, a good warrior, a fierce warrior, a successful warrior. He knew her anger was rooted in fear, fear that she would give birth alone, that she would raise a child alone, and that one day she too, would be alone, once her child, presumably a son, would grow up and want to honor his father’s memory and be a warrior. And all that she loved would be lost for Wessex, for England, for the sake of being a warrior.

She massaged his feet as she carried on, and he looked lovingly down at her. He sipped his water, hands on his thighs as he caught a glimpse of her breasts down her dress. His cock hardened as his thoughts wandered.

“Sihtric!” Asta scolded, looking up at him, eyes hazy with lust. “Sihtric I cannot think of anything more repulsive than lying in bed with you.”

He gently took her arm and guided her to her knees, taking his feet out of the water, pruned and _very_ clean. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, their faces inches away.

And she burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she cried, face buried against his strong thighs.

He stroked her hair gently, before he lifted her face to meet his. “I understand your unsettledness, my love, but you must understand my position. I came from nothing, Asta, I was a slave. Born a bastard son, never to be loved by his father. My mother was cruelly killed in Dunholm, and I was forced to stand by and watch, unable to defend the person I love more than anything in this world or the next. But I am a warrior now. I wield an axe and a sword. I have _my own_ home, my _own_ silver, my _own_ grain. I have worked for it, I have _earned it_. I have a wife who I love fiercely, who I would die for. I have pledged my life, my service to Uhtred. It is the best way to guarantee our safety from Saxon or Dane. And the safety of this child. I know it is not easy for you to be alone when I am away, but you must find it in your heart to accept my fate. This is my _destiny_ , Asta.”

Sihtric held her hands in his, eyes pleading, begging her to understand. He pulled her to the bed. She laid there and cried quietly while he pressed gentle kisses to her temples, rubbing soothing circles into her back and shoulders. “I’m sorry, I did not want your return to be this way.” she sniffled, dark eyes meeting his.

“We’ll blame it on the child.” he smiled at her, not angry, never angry.

She laughed softly, sitting up to rest her head on his shoulder. “I’d like to make love to you now.” she told him, fingers ghosting up his thighs, his heart skipping a beat.

He made love to her, slowly, carefully, as not to disturb the child within her. He let her control the pace, which she wanted. Wanted to treat him, to thank him for returning to her once more, despite her initial outburst. She drew out the most exquisite moans from him, milking all the pleasure from his body that she could find.

She knew he was tired, but this is what he _craved_. When on the road, there is little time to think of pleasuring oneself, even if there were the means for privacy enough to do it. Particularly Sihtric. Always on the lookout, ears always attentive in the woods for crackling branches, nose always sensitive to smoke, the smell of herbs. Always paying attention to the way the wind shifted, the way the waves crashed along the shoreline. He never had the chance to let his guard, or his trousers down, and lose himself in a moment of pleasure.

When she brought him to the edge of his pleasure, and felt the muscles in his stomach tensing, she dismounted him, warranting a massive sigh from him, and a groan. She smirked, settling between his thighs, wrapping a hand around his cock before lowering her mouth to him. His body shivered and shook at the sensation, at the thought of what she was doing to him. His hands gripped her forearms as his body shook as she brought him to pleasure, his seed filling her mouth.

She swallowed him down, moaning at his taste, at the sight of her man, sweating and shaking above her, eyes pinched shut as he gripped her arms. She continued to kiss at his cock, despite his groans for her to stop. Pleasure drunk, he pulled her from between his thighs up to kiss her.

“I will always come home to you, Asta.” he told her, chin trembling.

“I know you will. Or Uhtred will pay for your life at the end of _my_ sword.”

Asta and Sihtric did not leave their home for two days. They finally emerged when they needed fresh water, and to get grain from the store houses.

“You didn’t make good on your promise, Sihtric.” Finan teased, meeting Sihtric at the storehouse for the grain.

“I got my share, don’t you worry, Finan. We’ll blame it on the child.” Sihtric smirked.

Finan laughed, throwing an arm around Sihtric’s shoulders. “Ya lucky bastard, you.”


End file.
